


You're Not too Old For This, Are You?

by pajamabees



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adam is elite, M/M, Shiro just really loves Adam, a little suggestive but not too much, and shiro was the one who sat behind him and hugged his waist and, god i love these old men, he was the elite one when it came to hover bikes, i love them, rated T just in case though, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 07:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pajamabees/pseuds/pajamabees
Summary: Adam and Shiro visit the Garrison for a reunion with the other paladins, but they may have sneaked off for...nostalgic reasons.





	You're Not too Old For This, Are You?

The hover bike was old, that much was certain. Maybe not as old as Shiro had originally thought—after all, he still had a hard time following the concept of time—but it was old enough to look like a vintage motorcycle compared to the new and improved ‘hover drones’ that Shiro saw flying in and out of the base ever since the beginning of their visit. It was old school, and Shiro was warped back in time from just the sight of it.

Memories of before the Alien War, before Kerberos, and even before he had met Keith flashed before his eyes as he inspected the cracked and peeled “01” painted on the side of the contraption. This wasn’t his bike—that was long gone—but all the bikes were the same. Gray and orange with radiant blue at the joints. It was still so beautiful to Shiro. His fascination towards space technology never faltered.

“It’s been a while since I’ve driven this thing.” He smoothed over the metal body with his fingers, opting to use his remaining hand rather than the robotic one. His hovering arm could feel, but it wasn’t the same. It wouldn’t be able to pick up on the nostalgia like his normal skin could. “I’m not sure I even remember the basics anymore.”

“Well, good thing you’re not the one driving,” Adam said from behind him. Shiro turned just in time to catch a pair of dusty goggles, inspecting them before staring at Adam in confusion.

“What? You’re not thinking of driving this old thing, are you?”

“Not thinking about driving it—I am driving it.”

Adam wrapped the goggles around his head, the sleek lenses fitting perfectly over his eyeglasses, just like they used to. He still looked just as adorable and dorky, especially in the lighting of the musty garage. The rays of the setting sun peaked through the open garage door, sheathing half of the bikes and old equipment in strings of gold.

Déjà vu hit Shiro hard as he stood, dumbfounded, watching Adam adjust the goggles for a more comfortable fit. He wasn’t sure how many blasts from the past he could handle, because the way the sun highlighted Adam’s hair reminded him of the very moment he developed a crush on the man. It was this exact setting, except everything wasn’t covered in dust, and the air still smelled so new back then. The feeling was the same though—a tug at his heartstrings so subtle yet so powerful. It took his breath away.

“Adam—”

“C’mon, old man.” Adam pushed past him, brushing their shoulders together before he swung one leg over the leather seat, the bike snug between what Shiro knew were toned thighs underneath all that clothing. With a sly grin, Adam patted the spot behind him, knowing damn well Shiro wasn’t looking at the seat. Oh, the things Adam did to him.

Using the last of his resolve, Shiro tried to think rationally, trying very hard not to linger too long on the way Adam’s pants stretched over his bottom. “This isn’t a good idea. We’re not even supposed to be here—”

“Get on the bike, Takashi.”

“Okay.”

Shiro tried to try hide his eagerness as he snapped the goggles over his eyes and practically jumped onto the bike, immediately wrapping his arms around Adam’s waist like they belonged there. They molded together perfectly.

“This is a really bad idea,” he said, but his voice shook with childish delight.

“Yeah, yeah.” Adam waved him off nonchalantly before digging in an old, rustic key.

Shiro’s breath hitched when the engine started, the entire bike vibrating and humming as it levitated off the ground. Shiro felt ten years younger—it radiated so much life.

Adam adjusted his grip on the handles and wiggled his hips, and although Shiro knew he was just balancing himself, he couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath at the sudden friction. He leaned forward, eliminating any space between their two bodies.

This felt right. This felt natural.

“Ready?” Adam shouted over the engine.

Shiro responded by tightening his hold on Adam’s waist. “I think so.”

The laughter that bubbled from Adam’s throat was joyous and absolutely nutty, and Shiro felt a smile creep onto his face before Adam revved the engine. There was a familiar lurch, and suddenly they were no longer underneath the shelter of the garage.

The initial burst of air was deafening, Shiro choking on his own breath for a second before he adapted to the speed of the hover bike. He had been on ships a hundred times as fast, had been warped from one solar system to the next; but this kind of speed, the kind that whipped his hair and wrinkled his clothes, never ceased to frighten and excite him at the same time. It was far different than being in a cockpit, safe from outside debris and the shards of oxygen hitting one’s face. No, this was dangerous, this was vulnerable.

This was exhilarating.

“Woo!” he hollered into the roar of the landscape rushing past them in a blur of orange, yellow, and light brown. All around him was like a smeared painting, as if the artist grew angry at the stillness of life and wanted something wild and ugly, something fast and menacing. Shiro felt rebellious, young, and free.

Adam’s maneuvering was a little rusty at first, but he quickly got the hang of it, his balance and the way he handled the weight of the bike familiar to Shiro. He had a specific style that Shiro could never quite match, as if Adam was as light as a feather, like he was one with the bike. Even with the extra weight Shiro contributed, the man was exceptional at finding an ultimatum between himself and the hunk of metal. Every turn, every jump—it was like Adam was asking the bike for permission before he did anything.

“Hold on!” Adam shouted, leaning forward and dragging Shiro with him. Shiro did as he was told as they rounded a familiar crevice, holding on as tight as he could when they bounced and drifted before blasting off towards a cliff Shiro remembered all too well.

His heart pounded in sequence with the engine as he stared over Adam’s head. The sun was just underneath the cliff, barely a slit over the horizon that colored the sky several shades of pink, purple, and blue. Adrenaline coursed through his veins at lightening speed, but he wasn’t afraid. He gave Adam and the bike all his confidence as they neared the edge, and he clenched his muscles impossibly tighter as they grew closer, closer….

A familiar lurch, a hop, and then a sense of weightlessness. The air grew still, and everything was in slow motion as they floated in the air for what felt like a whole five seconds. Shiro inhaled, a mix of desert, machine oil, and _Adam_ clogging his nostrils. He could feel everything: gravity, the stillness of the bike, and every crease and crevice of Adam’s back. His mind felt clearer, and for a few moments he could name all the emotions running through his brain, could recount all the times he was happy.

Something crawled up his throat, and Shiro unleashed a roar of whoops and hollers. He could hear Adam laughing, and it sounded like the twinkling of the stars beginning to peak out from above them. Their voices echoed off the vast desert, until finally they were falling, and their cries were carried by the wind.

Like the veteran he was, Adam measured their fall as if it hadn’t been years since he last performed the old trick. Shiro wasn’t surprised though; after all, it was _Adam’s_ trick, and the bike followed his movements fluidly until they were hovering a safe distance from the ground again.

From there, it was a smooth ride to another familiar cliff, this one taller than the rest. Shiro’s heart slowed along with the bike as his body exited fight or flight mode, and it wasn’t until Adam gracefully stopped a few feet from the edge that he finally took in a breath that didn’t taste like danger.

“You okay?” Adam asked him, nudging Shiro’s arm with an elbow, “You’re not gonna have a heart attack, are you?”

Shiro scoffed but leaned forward to rest his chin on Adam’s shoulder, still a little out of breath. “I’m not that old, jerk. And you’re older than me.”

“And yet you’re the one with the white hair.”

Shiro, with his metal arm, sneaked his hand underneath Adam’s shirt and pressed on the man’s belly. “ _Jerk_ ,” he said, grinning at Adam’s undignified shriek from the coldness of his fingers.

A few shuffles and giggles later, Adam managed to wrestle himself from Shiro’s cruel grip and turn his body around until he was practically sitting in Shiro’s lap, his thighs cascading over Shiro’s. Shiro hummed when strong arms lazily slung over his shoulders, and he pushed forward under Adam was leaning back on the handle bars. He buried his face in the crook of that smooth neck, breathing in and relishing in the smell of Adam’s usual scent mixed with fine desert sand. Digging his nose against the underside of his jaw, he could feel how Adam’s heartbeat matched the slow thumping pattern of his own. It made Shiro feel safe for some reason, and extremely happy. He told Adam that.

“Mmm, sap,” Adam murmured, and he curled his form inward, wrapping his legs around Shiro’s waist and embracing his neck in a warm cocoon of powerful arms. One hand carded through snow-white locks, and Shiro melted into a pool of water.

They stayed like that until the sun finally went down and the stars appeared by the thousands, indulging in one another with tight hugs and sweet kisses. Adam was in the midst of placing firm pecks along Shiro’s temple and the top of his head when he pulled back with a soft gasp.

“Takashi,” he whispered, and he huffed out a short giggle, “What are you doing?”

“Remember when we used to sneak away like this,” Shiro mumbled against the spot on Adam’s neck he had just been suckling on, covering it with a few kisses before continuing, “And I would leave hickeys all over your neck?”

“Is that what you’re thinking of doing?”

“I’m not thinking of doing it—I am doing it,” Shiro reiterated Adam’s words with a smirk, but then suddenly paused as he realized the different context and pulled back to stare at Adam with an apologetic look. “With your permission, of course.”

Adam arched back and laughed so hard Shiro felt it throughout the bike’s entire frame, and he pressed his hand at the back of Shiro’s head to reel him into the crook of his neck again. “You have my permission, but you do realize we’re having breakfast with everyone tomorrow, right? They’re going to see all the hickeys.”

“Mm, one hickey, actually. It’s getting kind of cold out.”

Another burst of laughter spilled from Adam’s kiss-red lips, and Shiro joined in before he indulged himself once more, closing his eyes and drowning in the taste and smell of Adam’s skin, the feel of his limbs coiled tightly around his body, and the sound of satisfied gasps and moans. He may have done more than what he intended, but the night sky and the vast solar system above shadowed their naughty antics enough that the only thing Shiro could see was the stars reflecting off Adam’s skin in shades of beautiful blues.


End file.
